


When things break down

by MoonTearChild



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mirage is depressed, yeah its sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-11-02 13:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonTearChild/pseuds/MoonTearChild
Summary: Mirage got hurt during the games, and Octane is left trying to find out where he's ran off to.





	1. Chapter 1

Octane had nearly dropped his goggles he had been busy polishing when he saw it. His mouth hung agape as he watched, eyes locked on the TV. 

Mirage was the jumpmaster, shooting a quick wave at the camera before jumping off the dropship. Typical stuff.  
"Master of the jump here." He announced, grinning as his eyes scanned the battlegrounds for a drop zone. Once the supply ship had come into focus, he'd already knew that was his target before he could speak. "Let's land here."  
The decision was unanimous, and they began their descent. 

But that's when it happened. Clearly miscalculating his angle, Mirage hit the supply ship with a sickening crack, face planting rather aggressively to the side. Even watching through the screen, Octavio winced - there was no way he'd come out of that unscathed. The camera followed him as he fell, and he could just tell something was wrong. Mirage's body was entirely limp, and blood seemed to float in the air around him. Octane gripped his goggles so tightly his knuckles turned pale, the sounds of plastic creaking beneath his fingertips as Mirage's body hit the ground with a dull thud. He wasn't moving. The junkie's breath hitched, rocking on the balls of his feet as he stared at the screen, watching as an enemy squad mate came over, poking Mirage with the barrel of their peacekeeper. No movement. Just to be safe, they put one between his eyes, and Octane had to scramble to turn off the TV, breathing in short, sharp bursts as he grabbed his coat and made for the door. 

Before he even knew what was happening, he was skidding down the Legend wing of the local hospital, practically flying into Ajay as she appeared from around the corner.  
"Hermana, where is he?" He blurted out, all volume control out the window as he shuffled rapidly on his feet, having no time for the confused look Lifeline gave him in response. Before she could speak, he cut her off. "Elliott, is he here?!"  
She set a hand on his shoulder and he tensed, practically flinching away from her in preparation for bad news.  
"Octavio, calm down. He's just left, you just missed him."  
"How is he?!"  
"Not too good, but nothin' a couple weeks of rest shouldn't fix."  
"What's wrong with him?"  
"It's best ya see for yourself. He's pretty beat up, but I fixed him best I can."  
Still buzzing with pent up anxiety, Octane nodded, pulling Lifeline in close for a hug.  
"Gracias, chica."

Pulling out his phone with shaking hands, Octane quickly selected Mirage's contact and began typing.

'Saw the match, bad luck, eh? Jajajaja'

No reply. He sighed, rolling his shoulders and neck impatiently. No big deal, he was probably just at home, maybe he didn't hear his phone. With a resigned nod, Octane began to exit the hospital.  
"Octavio, wait up!" Ajay called out from behind him. He turned to face her.  
"Hm?"  
She held out a package of medication, which Octane took gingerly.  
"He'll need these. Ya best take care of him, ya hear?" She laughs, giving him another hug for good measure.  
"Gracias, I will." He assures, smiling cheekily.  
"Oh, and Silva?" She got his attention again, smiling. "Let me know next time."  
His grin drops to a sheepish smile, nodding.  
"Si, lo siento." He mumbles out the apology, face red. Lifeline pats his shoulder with a laugh.  
"Don't worry about it, you're cute together."

On his way back to the apartment, he decides to shoot Mirage another text.

'Amor, how are you feeling?'

He pauses on the street, staring at the screen intently for a sign that his boyfriend had seen it. Nothing. Octane drums a rhythmless beat into his thigh, sucking the cool metal of his lip piercing into his mouth as he waited. Minutes later, he had not moved, and Mirage had not answered back. With a curse, he decides to continue on his way home, searching his head for a logical explanation as to why he wasn't replying. Maybe he was in the bath? Regardless, he quickens his pace, making it back to the apartment within minutes of setting off. He opens the front door, noticing the lights were off.  
"Elliott?" He called out, and when no reply came, he frowned, shutting it behind him and walking into the hallway to his right to see if he was home. The bedroom door was ajar just how he had left it, but he checked anyways. Bedding was rumpled across the mattress and the bed lay empty, no sign of the yellow jumpsuit within the room. He exits and takes note of the closed bathroom door. Reluctantly, he knocks. "Amor, you in there?"  
Receiving no answer, he cracks open the door. Empty.  
The familiar churning in his stomach resurfaces, and Octane swears under his breath. He takes a second to close his eyes and take a deep breath, hand trying and failing to reach his phone in his pocket because of the shaking. He eventually succeeds, swiping his pattern into the screen.

Still no reply. His finger hovers over the call button, hesitant. "No can do. Too clingy." He mumbles, shooting him another text. He plays with the wording for a moment, trying to come across casual despite the uneven rise and fall of his chest.

'Headed out? Bummer. I'm starving jajajaja'

He couldn't be further from the truth, swallowing to combat the rising nausea as he ran a sweaty hand through his hair. "C'mon, Elliott, where are you, man?" His voice trembled, but before it could grip him any further he shook his head, willing himself to calm down. He was a fully grown adult, he could go where he liked. Octane turns on his heel, heading into the living room to sit down on the sofa, trying to remain calm. He needed a distraction. Grabbing the TV remote, he switches it on, watching with a passive disinterest as the game ended and the champions of the match were crowned. He pays little attention as the after match interviews were conducted, talking about the play of the game and winning tactics until a name sticks out.  
Mirage.  
It seems he was currently the laughing stock of the match, his misstep already gone viral. Bile rose in Octane's throat as the clip was replayed, slowed for 'comedic effect' to see the moment of impact. He grips the remote tightly, stabbing his finger down on the off switch and dropping it, not caring that the back fell off, batteries bouncing off and rolling under the couch.  
He checked his phone again. Seen, but still no answer. Octane's eyes flicked to the door. It was getting dark out, and Mirage still wasn't back.

'Elliott?'

He was losing his grip on his composure, fighting between coming off as annoying but desperately becoming more worried by the lack of response. Sucking in a shaking breath, he hits the call button. Holding it up to his ear, he listens to the dial tones with bated breath, waiting to hear his lovers voice.  
"Hello, you've reached the line of Mirage, Legend ex- extra- extraordinaire! Please leave a message."  
Octane curses, debating whether or not to hang up.  
"Elliott, it's Octane… Uh, call me when you get this, okay? Te amo."  
His finger punches the disconnect button and a heavy sigh falls from his mouth, brows furrowed. He chews at his bottom lip, foot tapping the ground rapidly as he stared at his phone, willing it to ring. 

Time seemed to pass in a haze as he awaited a response, one hour turning to two, Octane growing more restless by the second until his entire body was shaking. No reply. His thoughts raced as he stared at his phone, wondering if Mirage had gotten hurt, passed out somewhere, or if he had gotten sick of being pestered and just turned off his phone. That last thought sent a spike of anxiety through him, tears pricking at his eyes as he stood, gasping for air like a man drowned. The bar. That was the only place he could be. Without a second thought, he left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.  
The cold night air was painful on his flushed skin, burning his lungs as he made his way towards the Paradise Lounge. He shoves his fists into his jacket pockets and chokes back a nervous sob when he realises by the smell of the collar it's one of Mirage's he picked up instead. Really, it should have been obvious, the material a few sizes too big on his form, and the fact that it actually had sleeves should have been an indication, but with his fuzzy state of mind, he hadn't noticed. The bright neon lights meant he was quickly approaching the city centre again, the loud sounds overwhelming his already over working brain into overdrive. He takes a left, coming to the bar, and stops in his tracks. The lights were off, the sign indicating it was closed for the night. Octane panics, stopping in place to think. There was nowhere else he could be. So with a reluctant movement, he pushes at the door.

The inside of the lounge is dark, almost so dark that he couldn't catch the silhouette sitting by the bar.  
"Read the goddamn sign. We're closed." Came a heavily slurred voice, sounding irritated from its place in the centre of the room. Taking a step into the lounge, Octane flicks on the light much to the disapproval of the figure. Once his eyes had adjusted, Octavio sees Elliott turned to face him, a drink sat in front of him on the countertop.  
"Elliott, what are you doing here?" He asks, taking in the battered appearance of the usually so meticulously groomed man. His eye was bruised, black and swollen and his nose was crusted over with blood. Once he notices the sling encasing Mirage's right arm, his heart drops.  
"Filing taxes, what do you fucking think?" He huffs, turning around to take another heavy swig of whatever was in the glass. "What are you doing here?"  
"I came to check on you, amor. I was worried-"  
"Yeah? Don't be." Mirage's uncharacteristically aggressive voice cut him off, pouring another round into the glass sloppily with his non dominant hand.  
"Maybe you shouldn't be drinking-"  
"Maybe you should mind your goddamn business, Octavio." He spat, glaring at the junkie with hostility. "Because nobody else seems to be. My face plastered all over the internet as a goddamn failure. But who cares?! Mirage is just the attractive idiot, he won't remember it by tomorrow! It doesn't matter that I'm a real person under that fucking stupid holotech and it sure as shit doesn't matter that I'm not actually an idiot who loves pork chops and bamboozling some poor fuckers out in the ring. But who cares, right. Who fucking cares. Certainly not me."  
Octane was taken aback by the outburst, but before he could even open his mouth to reply, Elliott was taking another large gulp of alcohol. "Who gives a fuck about the fact that I'm one of the smartest fucking Legends in that shitshow, I'm a fucking engineer, I run a bar and make my own tech, but no - the fact that my God damn speech impediment gets in the way of what I want to say means I'm the lovable idiot of the bunch. Just a pretty fucking face, they don't even care about my skill in the ring because all I am is a sack of meat. Well, I hope they enjoy their collective jerk off because I'm done. I fucking give up." He throws back his head, swallowing the rest of the amber liquid and slamming the glass down onto the bar hard enough to make it crack.

The sound of sniffling catches Octavio's attention, Elliott's shoulders shaking as his body is wracked with sobs. Taking a reluctant step forward, he sets a hand on the man's shoulder. He had never been good with words. He had never been sensitive to other people's feelings, that much had been proven time and time again, so instead he didn't speak. He grabbed Elliott by the shoulders and hugged him tight, not relenting when his fists beat weakly against his chest. As he searched for something to say, he stroked Elliott's hair, feeling the man slump into his embrace, the fight having left him. Now with anger gone, all that was left was the broken pieces of himself he had been trying to hide for fear of being left.  
"Te amo." He murmured into the curls at the top of the man's hair. "I love you, Elliott."  
"Stop." The voice was so quiet, he almost didn't hear it.  
"I love you, Elliott."  
"Stop it."  
"I lo-"  
"STOP IT, STOP!" He yelled, snapping his head up to meet hazel eyes with his red rimmed ones. His lip trembled as tears flowed down his cheeks. "Just stop." He begged, pushing Octane away with his hands and turning to stare back at the wall. "You don't mean it." He chokes, hand tugging at his hair as he struggles to breathe. Octavio moves forward, wrapping a hand around Elliott's wrist to stop him from hurting himself. "I hate Mirage." He scowls, face contorting with rage, as if the name was that of his worst enemy. "But… But I hate Elliott Witt too." He pulls out of Octane's grip to slam his fist down onto the bar, not even flinching at the sound. "What kind of fuck up would leave his own mother with the chance to lose her only son? She deserves better. Maybe if I had signed on instead of them-"  
"ENOUGH." Octavio's voice is so loud in his own ears, he shakes his head, cheeks wet with frustration. "Shut up. Just shut up." 

They stare at each other in silence, not daring to make a move, until Elliott grabs at the bottle of alcohol, moving it to his lips to take a drink.  
"I fractured my collarbone. Broke my nose, bruised a few ribs too. What a fucking joke." He scowls, letting out a bitter laugh. "I bet they won't even miss me." He takes another sip. "And you'll be the same. Now you've seen what I'm really like." He speaks nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather. "Elliott Witt, critical fuck up extraordinaire." He waves his hand, as if illustrating something fabulous with a sneer. He only pauses when he notices Octavio still hadn't spoken, and turns around. He had expected the junkie to have left, but what he saw was much worse. The once full of life Octane was reduced to a crying shaking mess, holding onto his arms for dear life, as if hugging himself for comfort. Elliott watches as the man struggles to speak, shaking his head and throwing all caution to the wind. He usually refrained from speaking too freely, as it often ended in someone getting upset or misunderstanding what he was trying to say.  
"I don't think so." Is all he choked out, voice quivering. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and continues. "Elliott, please." He begs, reduced to nothing more. "Don't hurt yourself like this… Don't hurt me like this."  
He watches with dark eyes as Octavio rings his hands, tear tracks still fresh on his face. "I want to help you. And you're not letting me. Why?" He begins crying anew, shaking violently. "Why won't you let me help you?!" His tone is steadily getting louder, more frantic, so loud he almost didn't hear the man's reply being quietly mumbled out into the space between them.  
"Because I'm not worth it."  
"Bullshit! You helped me, when my legs got fucked up! You made me feel better, why won't you let me do the same?! Let me help you!" He yells, throwing his arms down by his sides as he sobbed angrily. "It's not meant to be easy! But you still have to try, otherwise you're going to hurt yourself in a way you'll regret and you'll never be the same!" His voice trails off towards the end, eyes widened and sorrowful as he looks down at his metal prosthetics. "... Trust me. I know."  
Elliott's breath catches in his throat as tears bubble up under the surface of his eyelids. "Let me help you, Elliott, please." He asks, voice hoarse with emotion. A few seconds of nothing pass, and then he's nodding, sobbing and falling into his boyfriend's shaking embrace.  
"I'm sorry." 

Getting back to the apartment was difficult due to the sheer amount Elliott had drank. He stumbled with every step, apologising profusely between soft hiccups and sniffles. Eventually reaching their home, Octavio kicks open the front door, setting the drunken man on the sofa. He returns to lock the doors, filling up a glass of water on his way back, which he handed to Elliott carefully, rubbing small circles into his back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tav." Elliott slurs, unable to cry due to dehydration.  
"It's alright, Amor. I'm not mad at you." He soothes, dropping to his knees to begin unlacing the heavy combat boots the trickster wore.  
"But why?" He pressed, taking a gulp of water too fast and coughing. Octavio patted at the drunken man's back, taking the glass off him and setting it down on the coffee table.  
"Because I love you, Elliott." 

Elliott didn't respond, but that was okay. He steadily works at the straps and buckles on the man's legs, removing his gear piece by piece in silence.  
"I wanna sleep." Came the mumbled voice of his lover.  
"I gotta get this stuff off you, Amor." Octane says softly, inching the harness down his thighs and setting it on the table. Elliott sniffs softly again, shaking his head.  
"I… I wanna sleep." His voice cracks, and Octane nods.  
"Sleep, Elliott."  
The man nods, letting his head flop back onto the top of the couch and closing his eyes. He was softly snoring within minutes, drool collecting in the corner of his mouth. Octane watches him for a moment with a sad smile, sighing. "Now how do I do this?" He mumbles, staring at the sling covering Elliott's right arm. He lifts a reluctant hand, gently grabbing hold of his injured arm and removing the fabric to begin unlatching the holotech. It was then that Elliott's previous statements had come back to mind. Octane didn't think his inventions were dumb, they were incredibly ingenious and proof of his abilities. While the arm was free, he pulls down the zipper of the jumpsuit, tugging it down, careful not to jostle the injury as much as possible. Working at the other arm and removing the sleeve, Octane pulls the jumpsuit down the sleeping man's hips as best as possible, sliding it down his legs and over his ankles to fold it up, setting it down on the coffee table. Left in only his boxers now, Octavio fixes the sling back onto his arm, staring at his boyfriend with a frown. He looked so peaceful while sleeping, contrary to the array of emotions he was dealing with just before. Wiping some crusted blood away from the man's nose carefully, he stood and retrieved a blanket from the bedroom, heading back to drape it over Elliott to make sure he was warm. He sighs, ruffling the curly hair and pressing a kiss to the damp forehead. "Te amo, Elliott. You might not believe me, but that's okay." Octavio whispers, taking one final moment to stare at the sleeping form before heading off to bed.


	2. Heart to heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They decide to talk about the events of the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be real, I want a part 3 of this to be some smut but also I've wrote like, 15'000 words this month and idk how long I'll be able to keep it up so - no promises.

When Mirage woke up, he almost wished he hadn't. Opening his eyes groggily, he let out a low scratchy groan. He takes a moment to come to, pain radiating not only from his arm, but his head too, his throat dry and sore. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tries to remember the events of the previous night, and why he was practically naked bundled up on the sofa. Mirage winces when his hand brushes over his nose, pulling away to see fresh blood on his fingers. With a curse, he stands huffing as the pain in his head increases, stumbling when his vision blurs. He hiccups, grimacing as the taste hits his tongue. He was hung over for sure. 'That certainly narrows it down' he thinks to himself, staggering over to the sink and watching the blood flow down the drain as he begins the arduous task of trying to remember. 

"Why ya lookin' so glum? It happens to all of us!" Ajay chides, throwing a friendly punch to his uninjured shoulder, infectious smile only serving to further dampen his mood. He scowls at the floor, holding the gauze up to his nose, slowly turning red as blood seeped into it. He had to admit, breaking and resetting his nose a second time hurt a hell of a lot more. But that wasn't what was frustrating him right now. Lifeline was careful to avoid the injury site as she settled his arm in the sling, humming to herself as she worked.   
"I look like an idiot. And if I hadn't have died, we wouldn't have been the first squad out. I fucked up and you all paid for it." His voice is thick with anger, and he doesn't realise he's clenching his fist until another white hot wave of pain overcomes him, making him cry out and his nose start bleeding anew. Ajay sets a firm hand on his shoulder.   
"Ey, Elliott, be quiet. It was an accident, ya not to blame." Something about lifeline was so resolute, so determined. She gave her advice with a strict but caring tone and wasn't afraid to tell the truth. Usually this would be enough to get him over his slump, but not today. He scoffs, and she shoots him a warning glare, taking over the job of tending to his nose. "Though ya not gonna like the news."   
His shoulders stiffen in response and he clenches his jaw.   
"What now?" He asks, sighing. Pulling the gauze away from his face and throwing it in the yellow biohazard bin, Ajay plays with her gloves, suddenly uneasy on breaking the news.  
"Ya won't be able to play in the next few games."  
Mirage jerks from the news.  
"What?! No, you can't be jo-joking! You're joking, please tell me that's a joke. You gotta be- You're joshing me!" He stammers, eyes widening in panic. His breathing quickens, and Lifeline holds up a hand.   
"Elliott, please. I'm sorry, but ya can't play in this condition. I'll let the higher ups know." He grips onto her arm with his available hand, shaking his head rapidly.   
"You can't! Tell them I'm fine!" He half shouts, shaking from the adrenaline.   
"And let ya go into battle like this?! Ya can't even lift a gun in this state, Elliott! I'm sorry!" She yells back, softening afterwards. "Go home, Elliott. Spend some time with Octavio, take it easy. Ya will feel better for it when ya come back." She stares into his eyes, and he slowly releases his hold on her arm, mumbling out an apology. She turns and begins rummaging around in the cupboards, looking for something, but by the time she turns to face the bed once more, Mirage is gone.

"Mira, look who's up." Comes the teasing voice from the front door, and Mirage doesn't bother to turn around. Octane shuts the door, taking a once over at the man currently leant over the sink. He rolls his shoulders as he hums, striding over to Elliott and setting a hand on his lower back. "How you feeling?" He asks softly.  
"Fine." Comes the strained reply, Mirage now running the cool tap to wipe his face free of the blood. It doesn't take a genius to know he's lying. "How was your run?" Mirage tries to divert the conversation, turning to the cupboards and reaching up to pull out a glass and filling it full under the tap, taking a sip. Octane turns off the tap, knowing Mirage only had use of his left arm.   
"Not too bad, same old. I ran, I ran some more, conquered the track." He laughs, but pauses when he takes a look at the trickster's face. It was pale, and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. "Aqui. Ajay gave me these for you, amor." He fishes about in his jacket pocket, handing Mirage the box of medication. "Have you ate?"

His question was met with a shake of his head, and Octane hums. He certainly couldn't cook, that was a sure fire way to set the kitchen on fire, and with Elliott's arm out of commission… "We could get takeout?" He offers.   
"I don't know, I need to keep in shape for…" Elliott's voice trails off. "Sure." He sighs. He takes two of the pills with a mouthful of water, wincing as a fresh wave of pain hit him. Octane knew Elliott didn't like to eat out often, in favour of regulating his diet to keep up good appearances on the games, but he supposed that wouldn't matter for a while now.   
"Cool, I was starting to get hungry. Now just let your loving boyfriend sort it out, huh?" He jokes playfully, rubbing his hand down the length of Elliott's back, making him shiver. "You should go to bed, amor, I'll meet you there. We can just spend the day relaxing." He smiles, pausing. "And uh, I'd like to talk. If that's okay." 

He could tell by the man's expression that it was something neither of them wanted to do, but it had to be done. He couldn't ignore what had happened last night. Mirage nods wordlessly, and turns to head to the bedroom, bare feet padding along the cool wood floor. Octane pulled out his phone, intent on ordering some food to quell the hunger in his stomach before getting too serious. He tapped his feet against the floor as he scrolled through the many options on his phone, still left with pent up energy from his run. Eventually, he settled on waffles for himself, and pancakes for mirage, knowing they were his favourite. While he waits for the food to arrive, he hurriedly folds up the blanket, stowing that with Mirage's jumpsuit and setting them on the countertop to be washed. When the delivery drone beeped at the door, Octavio was quick to open it, taking the food with a grin and heading to the bedroom. "Here comes fun." He exclaims, pushing the door open with his foot. He takes a look at Elliott, covers resting at his waist, arm at his chest looking miserable, and shoots him a smile. "I got your favourite. You know I can't stand seeing that pretty face upset." 

Mirage smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.  
"Thanks, Tav." He mumbles, taking the food eagerly. As he opens the carton, his stomach rumbles, signalling his hunger. Octane takes a seat on the bed, ruffling Elliott's curls.   
"De nada." He says through a mouthful of his own meal, "Mierda, this is good!" He gasps, swallowing the food down and taking another bite, eagerly enjoying the waffles. Taking a look up, he watches as Elliott plays with his food, only seeming to take a bite now he was being watched. He chews slowly, and grimaces as he swallows. Octane leans over, stealing the fork from the man's grasp and stabbing at a bit of the pancake, moving it in towards his face. "Here comes the aeroplane." He teases, making zooming noises as he moves the fork.   
"Tav, stop, I'm not in the mood."   
"Okay, okay, I get it. You're a big boy!" He chuckles, handing back the utensil and shuffling closer. "So, what should we do with your time off? Watch old reruns and pig out? I got a dozen shows calling your name." His efforts to be cheerful are met with a glum look, Elliott sighs and wipes a hand through his hair.  
"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate this, but can we hurry up and talk already? I know something bad happened last night and its pi-pissing me off." His shoulders are slumped and he sets the food off to the side. Before Octane has a chance to say anything, he's cut off. "I'm not hungry."  
He decides not to argue despite the sound of Mirage's quietly gurgling stomach signalling for food.  
"Si, alright." He fills the silence, trying to figure out where to start.   
"I don't remember what happened. I just know it wasn't good." Elliott clarifies, tone tense and apprehensive. Octavio nods in agreement.   
"You said some pretty bad stuff, amor. Do you really think that little of yourself?" His voice cracks as he recalls their argument, worrying at the metal below his lip with his teeth. 

Mirage's wince and recoil at the question suggested it was something he had long been thinking about. "Be honest, por favor." Octane begs, and the small, curt nod he receives in reply almost breaks his heart. He furrows his brows, biting sharply into his lip. "Why? I… I don't understand? How could you think that about yourself, Elliott? Make me understand-" Octane shakes his head, shutting up.

He watches every movement as Mirage's fist clenches, his face contorting with a concoction of emotions.   
"I'm worried that everyone sees me how I see myself, now I've messed up. I've let everyone down, Tav - my team, my fans, you." He swallows back a frustrated sob. "I let you see what I'm really like. I hate this persona - Mirage - because I know I'll never be him. I'm just some engineer with personal problems… I'm just Elliott Witt. I'm not funny or chi- chra- charismatic. I'm just a guy with a speech impediment that tries too hard to get people to like him." His bottom lip trembles as he struggles to hold back his tears. "I'm sorry you have to deal with me like this."   
Octavio takes hold of Elliott's free hand, squeezing lightly.   
"Amor, no. I love hearing your thoughts - good or bad - this way I get to know the real you. And I must say, he's a pretty cool guy." He jokes, trying to reassure the man in front of him. "You don't need any of that, because I love you for you, every part of you. I just wish you could see yourself as I see you, cariño, because I think you'd be surprised." He presses a chaste kiss to the back of Elliott's hand. Seemingly unsure what to think of Octavio's response, Mirage pulls away to wipe his eyes, opting to stay silent. "I know, amor. I know you don't believe me. But it's the truth, te amo, Elliott. Truly." He moves in to envelop the man in a hug, careful not to lean onto his injured arm as he does so. Elliott's voice comes muffled from the crook of Octane's neck.  
"I just… Don't understand what you see in me. You're so full of life and positivity, why would you settle for someone like me?" He questions, gripping onto the fabric of the junkie's running jacket for dear life. Octane laughs in response.   
"Hey, I'm a different person outside the ring too. It gets tiring to be that badass all the time. But seriously?" He pulls away, holding the man at an arms length as he admired him. "You're selfless, caring, kind," he cards a hand through the trickster's curls as he spoke, "smart, funny, handsome - and you're a good cook." He chuckles, a goofy grin spreading over his features. "Dios mio, I really got the whole package, huh?" Setting a hand on the side of Mirage's jaw, he strokes at his cheekbone with his thumb. "Lucky me. I must've done something good in my life." 

Mirage looks away, to hide the fact that he was crying again, but Octavio didn't mind. He knew it was the good kind this time. "Te amaré a través de todo, Elliott" He says softly, watching for his reaction as he turns, eyeing him up nervously.  
"I don't know what that means" He replies, sounding embarrassed. Octavio chuckles in response.  
"I think you do." He smiles, meeting Elliott's gaze. "Now c'mon, rápidamente! Those pancakes aren't gonna eat themselves."


End file.
